


Oven Temp

by MissWonnykins



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Ash can't cook, Developing Friendships, Gary can't either, Gen, Rivals, baking gone awry, heaven help these boys, there's some hints of friendship buried in that rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWonnykins/pseuds/MissWonnykins
Summary: Preset your oven to 350 degrees; while waiting for the temperature to rise, prepare your ingredients:- One (1) Ash Ketchum, novice baker and desperate for help- One (1) Gary Oak, novice baker and reluctant participant- One (1) fruit tart, made with love (and/or moderate amounts of trial and error) for Delia KetchumIf combined correctly, your results should look like a rivalry with hints of friendship buried deep inside the crisp outer shell. Serve and enjoy.





	Oven Temp

Ash Ketchum would readily tell anyone that he knew absolutely nothing about how to prepare food. As far as he was concerned, he was getting on just fine with having someone like Brock cook for him. Ash made a good portion of the money used to buy ingredients, after all! And, hey, plenty of new trainers were hopeless when it came to making edible food. Misty was a prime example (though Ash wouldn’t be caught dead saying it within range of the girl herself). There were plenty of foods that didn’t require him to attempt to cook, if he truly was desperate, and so Ash didn’t really bother himself with trying to learn the skill.

Why he’d gotten it into his head that - for a traditional Pallet Town holiday - he needed to bake his mother a tart was anyone’s guess. Parent’s Day didn’t require the children to cook; the idea was just to make something special. Ash could’ve easily chosen to make his mother a card or perhaps even take up some of the bigger chores around the house...which was exactly what both of his close friends had tried desperately to tell him.

“I’m not a baby anymore!” Ash had huffed over the phone line, “I have to do somethin’ different, somethin’ that shows I’ve grown up!”

_ “I don’t think burning your house down is going to convince your mom that you’re grown up, Ash.” _ An exasperated Brock replied. 

With a groan, Ash leaned the legs back on the kitchen chair he was sitting in. “That’s why you oughta come help me!” He pleaded, pouting at the video screen. Brock looked unmoved. “Brock, c’mon, you’re the best cook I know besides mom!”

Brock hummed in reply. _ “Why not just ask your mom? You can both cook together. I’m sure she’d appreciate that.” _

But the trainer shook his head. “That’s not the point of Parent’s Day, though…”

_ “I still think you cooking  _ anything _ is a terrible idea.” _

Ash really couldn’t argue with him on that. Truthfully, the idea of accidentally setting something on fire or burning whatever he tried to make into a crisp made him more nervous than he let on. His mother’s cooking was so fantastic, though, and Ash could really think of no better way to show how much he appreciated her than by cooking something for  _ her _ this once. “I’d ask Misty, but…”

At once, Brock shuddered and turned a shade of white not unlike that of an egg shell.  _ “I’m sorry, Ash. I really would come and help, but I promised while I was home that I’d help take care of the Gym. There has to be someone in town you can ask for help. Aren’t any of the other kids doing something for your holiday?” _

“There’s not a lot of us...Pallet Town’s not too big, remember?” Ash lamented. “I didn’t really have a whole lot of people my age to play with growing up, except--...”

Sensing Ash’s sudden discomfort, Brock frowned.  _ “Except…?” _

“Nobody!” The dark-haired boy quickly yelped, expression guarded. “Yep! I sorta just...played all by myself!”

He was a terrible liar, and Brock knew it very well. Still, his older friend let the subject drop.  _ “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Ash...but please promise me you won’t try cooking alone.” _

Knowing that Brock was going to hold him to it regardless, Ash slumped and set his chair down on all of its legs once more. “Fine...I promise.”

_ “Good luck!” _

The line went dead soon after, and Ash dejectedly set the handset back in its cradle. His forehead hit the tabletop with a ‘thunk!’. “Ugh…”

“Pika-pi?”

Shifting so that his cheek was flat against the table, Ash blinked mournfully over at his starter Pokemon. Pikachu tilted its head, little face scrunched up in concern. He gave in and gave it a reassuring pat. “Brock was my only hope, buddy.” He explained. “Lisa’s family said that she’s spending time away still, and Robbie’s building something with his dad.” The last word made him wince. Well...at least that was  _ one _ parent he didn’t have to worry about disappointing for the day. With a low whine, he shut his eyes. “What’m I gonna do…? It’s too late to try and track down Ritchie, or I’d ask him.”

“Pika pika...chuuuuu.” Pikachu replied, patting at Ash’s wrist in turn. Its response seemed to signify that it had no idea on how to work with the situation, either. At its trainer’s tired sigh, it scampered along the table surface to retrieve a napkin and a crayon. It held both items up helpfully, and Ash shook his head.

“I’m not gonna just draw her a picture.” He insisted, stubbornly. “I’m not two anymore.” After a moment, though, he added: “She’d probably like it if you made her a picture, though.”

Pikachu seemed delighted at the prospect; the little mouse Pokemon sat down, carefully using the crayon to draw squiggly lines over the napkin. Watching it made Ash smile just a little, but only for a moment. There was still the question of his plan and how to enact it. The boy chewed on his lip, placing his cheeks to his fists. Lisa, Robbie...both of them had been unavailable or unable to help. Brock was a no go. Misty was a complete no without even needing to ask. Those were all of the people Ash knew his age. Other folks in town would be doing things with their own families. The only other person Ash knew of in town that was around his age but might not be busy was…

“No.” The sudden force of the word made Pikachu look up, the Pokemon’s expression confused. Ash stressed, fidgeted and grumbled to himself as he tried to think of someone else -  _ anyone else _ \- that could help. His thoughts always came right back around to one person, and the more he thought about reaching out the more dread began to pool in his stomach. “Nooooo...how’s he the only person?!”

“Pi...ka?”

Steeling himself, Ash reached up stiffly to unhook the handset once more from the phone. “...I gotta call Gary.” He finally explained, punching in the number for the lab up the road with an air of defeat. “He’s the only other person I know...not like he’ll wanna help me, but I gotta try…”

It was a dumb idea. A really, really dumb idea. Ash didn’t want any part in it. But…

The phone began to ring, and he glanced over at Pikachu’s silly crayon and napkin drawing. There’d been a time when he was small when he and Gary used to do  _ everything _ together. They’d sat at this very table and written their own cards several times. It was a very far-fetched hope, that perhaps he’d manage to convince his old friend to help him one more time, but Ash was very desperate and unwilling to back down from his plan.

The video screen flashed over from solid blue to the face of Professor Oak, cutting off Ash’s vaguely nostalgic thoughts.  _ “Hello there! Your mother was just telling me that you were home!” _

He’d completely forgotten that his mother was over visiting the professor. Grimacing, Ash let out a weak chuckle. “H’llo Professor…! Err...I’m actually not callin’ to talk t’you. S...sorry.”

_ “Oh?”  _ Fortunately, the old man didn’t seem all that upset.  _ “I can go find your mother, if you’d like!” _

“No, no!” Ash waved his hands, earning him a glare of ire from Pikachu as the action jostled the table. “I’m not callin’ for mom, either!”

The professor’s confused frown deepened.  _ “I...see. Well, then, who  _ are _ you looking for…?” _ There was some sort of understanding on his face, though the professor seemed as skeptical of it as Ash was of admitting it aloud.

Nevertheless, Ash swallowed his apprehension and bit the bullet. “I...need to speak to Gary. Please.”

Silence. Very telling silence. The professor’s eyebrows slowly rose up, further and further, into his hairline. At long last, he cleared his throat.  _ “I-- well then, I...hm.”  _ Shaking his head, he placed the mouthpiece of the phone to his shoulder and turned his head.  _ “Gary? Gary!”  _ Ash couldn’t hear the reply, but Gary must’ve called back.  _ “You have a phone call!”  _

It didn’t take much longer for the screen to split in two. In contrast with the professor in his bright lab, Gary Oak was apparently lounging about in his bedroom. Ash could remember how jealous he’d been to learn that Gary had a phone in his bedroom at all, once. Like his grandfather, Gary seemed equally perplexed with who he was looking at. His eyes darted from one side of the screen to the other - from his grandfather’s side to Ash’s and back - before the professor gave a low cough and a swift ‘goodbye’. The screen was suddenly just Gary, whose face was steadily morphing from bewildered to annoyed.   
  
_ “Do I wanna know why you called?” _ He finally asked, sounding as if even asking that was far too much of an effort.

Swallowing down his temper, Ash tapped the table with his fingers absently. “I need your help.”

_ “Answer’s no. G’bye!~” _

“Wh--?! Gary, wait!” Ash all but fell to the floor in his haste to get closer to the phone mounted on the wall. When he picked himself up, he could see sadistic amusement on the other boy’s face. “I’m serious! I really, really need help. You’re the only person I can ask.”

The auburn-haired boy hummed, rolling onto his back on his bed.  _ “And why’s that?” _

With a wince, Ash mumbled something in response.

_ “Can’t hear ya.” _

“I said, I already asked everyone else!”

Gary’s face puckered sourly.  _ “Wow. I feel soooooo honored, now.”  _ He drawled, and made to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Listen, you know I wouldn’t normally call you for anything.” Ash pointed out in a growl.

_ “Why start now, then?” _

“Because…” He stopped, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It felt like giving up, asking  _ Gary _ for help. The thought of his mother made him open his mouth. “...Because it’s for Parent’s Day. I need help making mom her gift...I can’t do it by myself.”

There was a pause, during which Gary finally deigned to look at him again. After several seconds of intense scrutiny, his rival sat up in bed.  _ “How do you manage to leave all this stuff until the last minute every time?”  _ He questioned,  _ “Just buy her a card and sign it or something. You don’t need my help for that.” _

“No way-- it has to be made, Gary, you know that.”

_ “I dunno what makes you think I do. I don’t celebrate, remember?” _

Oh. Owch. Even if that had nothing to do with Ash and his own parents situation, something in his chest still hurt a little hearing it. “Well...I sorta decided on what to make, anyway. I wanna try and bake her something.”

At once, Gary burst out laughing. It was hysterical laughter, hands-slapping-on-bed laughter.  _ “You--” _ A gasp.  _ “You’re gonna do  _ WHAT _ ?!” _

Ash was, of course, highly offended. His face flushed bright red. “Stop laughing!”

_ “HAAAHAHAHAHAHA!” _

“I’m serious!”

_ “You’re so stupid!” _

“What’s so stupid about wanting to bake her something?! She’s always baking ME stuff!-- and, hey, she bakes YOU stuff, too!”

Shoulders still shaking, Gary wiped at his eyes.  _ “Ahh...yeah? So what? She’s not  _ my _ mom. If you wanna bake for her, YOU do it. But I’d buy a bag of charcoal as a backup...just in case~” _

The trainer ground his teeth together. This had been such a waste of time. Of course Gary wouldn’t have agreed to help him. “I…I need help. I really can’t cook. I know I can’t.” That seemed to draw in Gary’s attention fully; some of his amusement faded and became curiosity. “It’s important, though. I don’t wanna just make her another card or whatever. I wanna really try to make something special, something she’ll remember.”

_ “Still doesn’t explain why you want me to help you.” _

“Well...you’ve gotta be a little better at baking than me. The only person who isn’t is Misty. You’re the last person I’ve got, you’ve GOTTA help me.”

Gary tutted, waggling a finger at the screen.  _ “Uh-uh. I totally do not have to help you. This is all your stupid little idea that’s bound to fail. But…” _

But…? Wait...was Gary…?

The condescending look on his rival’s face softened, very briefly.  _ “...But...I like your mom, I guess. I definitely don’t wanna find out you burned her house down because you didn’t have someone there to make sure you didn’t do something dumb. So...I’ll help. Just this once.” _

“Really?!” Ash’s excitement was echoed by his Pikachu, who all but threw its crayon upward in elation.

The other boy pointedly ran a finger under his nose, pouting.  _ “Don’t get your underwear in a bunch, Ashy-Boy. I just think your mom deserves more than whatever disaster you might cook up on your own. When were you gonna start?” _

“Err...well, she’s over there right now, right?” He asked. When Gary gave him a short nod, Ash gave him a determined grin. “So now would be a great time!”

Gary seemed less than enthused at the idea of having to get up right away, but relented and slid to the edge of his bed.  _ “Fine. You better have some idea of what we’re makin’, Ash. I’m not coming over to play ‘mad scientist’ in your kitchen.” _

“I’ve got a recipe. Just hurry up! We might be able to get it done before she gets home.”

_ “Okay, okay! Sheesh, hold your Horsea...I’m putting my shoes on. Do us both a favor and pull out the stuff you need for this thing while I’m walking over, it’ll save us some time. I’m goin’.” _

Before he could open his mouth to say good-bye, Gary had hung up the phone with a sharp ‘click’. Ash was undeterred: he’d done it! He’d actually gotten  _ Gary _ to agree to help him! It felt like a victory...more so than any battle he’d fought against his rival thus far. That was a bit embarrassing, actually…

“Pi! Pika!”

Pikachu was waggling its chubby arms wildly, and Ash stumbled away from the phone at once. Right...he had to get things together. If they were gonna do this, he had to do it right. Fishing the magazine clipping from his pocket and slapping the wrinkled paper to the counter, he began digging through the cabinets. This was gonna be a piece of cake.

\---

“This is gonna be awful.”

Gary had arrived only a few minutes before, and already he was plucking Ash’s nerves. The dark-haired boy was stubbornly looking away from him, his eyes focused on the pile of ingredients and baking equipment he’d pulled out. 

The only problem was, he was quite sure that he’d pulled out way too much. Some of the stuff he’d found he wasn’t even sure they’d need. He had no idea what a ‘whisk’ was, but the big hammer he’d found looked pretty neat. He also had no idea what a tart mold looked like, and had instead pulled out a big cast-iron skillet that he felt would hold the tart together. That was what he was trying to make - a fruit tart. It looked pretty and was covered in neat circles of fresh fruit. His mother would love it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gary hesitantly approach the mountain of baking supplies. The taller boy pulled the carton of eggs out from under several long cookie trays with a wince, peeking into the container and breathing a sigh of relief. “Jeeze...what are you even trying to make?...besides a mess, obviously.”

His hand snatched the recipe off the counter, wordlessly holding it out to his rival. Gary took it with an equally petty snatch of his own, glancing it over. “...Okay, well, at least it’s not something boring you could’ve bought at the store.” He admitted, finally, passing the recipe back to Ash. “But you didn’t have to pull the whole fridge out. You don’t need tomatoes, idiot…” 

Ash flushed about as red as the fruit Gary was holding in his hand. “I grabbed’em by mistake.”

“Sure ya did.” With a snort, Gary began sorting through the ingredients. Slowly, he made piles that Ash could recognize - cookware in one, dry ingredients in another, and the last was wet ingredients. The fruit he put back in the fridge, citing that they didn’t need them until the end. “So...lemme see that again.” When the paper was back in Gary’s hands, Ash noticed something peculiar. 

Gary looked  _ worried _ .

“Uh…” He blinked as Gary glanced up at him. “Is...this too hard, d’you think?”

At once, the worry vanished. Gary smirked, folding his arms over his chest. “Oh please. I mean, I get why  _ you _ couldn’t manage it alone, but I’ll make sure you do this right.”

Pikachu groaned along with Ash. This was going to be painful. “Fine...so, what do we do first?”

“It says…” Squinting, the older boy peered over the paper again. “...pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees. Well, that sounds dumb. Why? It’ll just make the whole kitchen really hot while we’re trying to put together everything.”

“I thought so too!” Ash leaned over Gary’s arms, frowning down at the recipe. “We can do that later, right?”   
  
“Er, right.” Coughing, Gary shook himself off. “Right, definitely. So next is…We have to dump a bunch of this stuff in the mixer and wait until it forms a ball.”

Pikachu gave a confident chirp, leaping from Ash’s shoulder to the counter. Ash followed suit, peeling his fingerless gloves from his hands and reaching for the mixer. A sharp slap from Pikachu’s tail made him recoil with a squawk. The rodent had its paws on its hips; it pointed to the sink accusingly, and Ash sheepishly joined it there. “Right, right, sorry...hands first.” He didn’t know how he’d forgotten that...even as a child, his mother had always stressed that he needed his hands clean if he wanted to do so much as stir something. If he was going to do this, he had to do it right! “You oughta wash yours, too, Gary.”

“I’m not an idiot, I know that.” The other boy’s footsteps stomped closer, and when Ash had barely finished rinsing his palms Gary practically hip-checked him out of the way. “Is your little wall socket seriously gonna cook with us?”

Feeling affronted in Pikachu’s honor, Ash scoffed. “Yeah, of course! He loves my mom!”

Gary offered him a shrug. “Well, sorta beats the point of having to wash up. He’s gonna get fur in it.” He pointed out, carefully drying between his fingers. 

That...was a point. Still, Ash couldn’t bear telling Pikachu that it couldn’t help out. That, and Pikachu would probably shock him. He wanted to get through the day without being shocked, and so he ignored Gary’s remark and gravitated toward the piece of paper lying on the counter. Sugar, butter, and flour. Simple enough. He dumped enough flour into the measuring cup and proudly poured it into the large standing mixer. Unfortunately, though, he ran into a problem right after.

“Err...Gary? What’s ‘confectioners sugar’...? I only saw one kind in the cabinet, but there’s two different sugars on the recipe…”

“Huh? What’re you whining about?” Gary leaned over the recipe, squinting once more. After a moment, he shrugged and shook his head. “I dunno, I don’t think so. Sugar is sugar, isn’t it? Little clear crystals that look kinda like salt.”

Ash breathed a sigh of relief - that was exactly what the bag he’d grabbed had in it. “So it’s just some weird wording, then?”

“Duh. You want me to measure it for you?” It was perhaps the nicest thing Gary’d said thus far, and Ash wordlessly nodded. There was no further comment; the other boy slid the measuring cup over toward himself and carefully poured the sugar into it. “‘Kay. What else? Butter?”

“Uh-huh...but how do you measure out so many tablespoons? The butter’s in a stick…” Ash glanced worriedly at the couple sticks he’d found in the fridge. The most he could gather from the package was that it was salted, which was good because the unsalted kind he’d tried tasted like a whole lot of nothing. 

With a huff, Gary pushed a small bowl at him. “You melt it and measure it. Come on, use your brain.”

“Oh...Oh! Yeah! That makes sense!” Happily, he unwrapped both sticks and stuck them in the bowl before tossing it into the microwave. “How long should I melt it?”

“I dunno...a minute? It’s a lot of butter.”

The microwave chimed as he punched in the numbers and began to hum. Ash’s smile lasted all of ten seconds before the butter in the microwave began to sizzle and pop. “Uh...Garrrryyyyy…”

A hand reached out, slapping for the button to open the door, but it was too late: the moment Gary yanked open the microwave door, the butter sputtered out all over his bare arm. It had melted super quick, overflowing from the bowl and coating the microwave plate. Hissing, his rival raced back to the faucet and doused his splattered arm under the cold water. “What’d you do?!”

“I put it in for as long as you said I needed to!” Ash protested, attempting to reach in and grab the butter. This proved to be a mistake - the bowl was super hot, and he quickly stuck his fingers in his mouth. “Ow...we need a pot holder…”

“Ugh, it’s all over my shirt…”

“Who cares about your shirt?! It’s all over the microwave!”

Gary had nothing to say about that, and Ash was grateful for it. With a mournful whimper, he bunched up a towel and reached in to retrieve the bowl. Butter sloshed over onto the towel, onto the floor, and eventually onto the counter that he carried it to. “Ugh...we’re not even a third of the way through. I guess at least we can measure it now…”

A wet nose gently nudged under Ash’s elbow. Pikachu had retrieved the measuring spoons, and Ash was once again perplexed by the measurements on them. The Pokemon helpfully pointed to the one marked ‘1 TBSP’, and Ash quietly began to ladle out the melted butter from the bowl into the mixer. 

Gary’s hands once again appeared, this time finagling and messing about with the mixer. When Ash glanced over, he couldn’t hold in a snort. Gary must’ve found Delia’s apron hanging on the pantry door, and had put it on over his clothes. It was frilly, light-pink, and on his snarky rival it was totally out of place. Leering back at him, Gary’s only other response was to reach out and flick at his ear. “Keep laughin’,” He warned, “At least I’M not gonna be the one covered in tart stuff when this is done. Did you get all the butter in?”

Shoot. He’d lost count. Quickly, Ash dumped in another couple spoonfuls of butter and gave Gary a grin. “Yep! So now we gotta mix it, right?”

“That’s what it says. Doesn’t say what number to set the mixer on, though.” Gary murmured, turning his attention back to the mixer. He hummed, tapped his chin with a finger, and then rolled his shoulders. “I say we put it on ‘ten’, that’s probably how mixed we want it, anyway, right?”

“Right! Into a ball!” Ash agreed. Gary reached forward and, using a finger, flicked the lever all the way to the number ten.

Immediately, the mixer went berserk.

It turned out that, apparently, the series of numbers were to indicate the  _ speed _ of the mixer - not an indicator of how ‘mixed’ the ingredients in it would turn out. Flour puffed up and out of the bowl, butter sprayed from the sides, and sugar cascaded out in a spiral. Pikachu gave a shrill cry of alarm that matched both Ash and Gary’s yells of shock. “TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!” 

Gary frantically grabbed for the plug, yanking it from the wall. The mixer immediately slowed and stopped, leaving the kitchen silent. Both boys hesitantly glanced at one another before looking pointedly away. Gary silently slid the lever down to the number ‘1’, idly twirling the cord in his hand. “Um…”

“Yeah…”

“We might wanna refill the bowl…”

Remeasuring the crust ingredients was done without commentary. They did their best to ignore how their shoes crunched over the floor in some places and slid in others. A patch of butter that’d splashed onto Ash’s arm left a huge, greasy mark near the joint of his elbow; A nice dusting of flour had settled over one of Gary’s shoulders. Hesitantly, they plugged the mixer back in and jumped back as it started up. Thankfully, it was at a gentle pace. The sigh of relief they shared was loud.

“Mom makes baking look so easy.” Ash found himself saying, his elbows on the counter as he watched the mixer slowly work through the bowl. 

Beside him, Gary leaned his back near Ash’s arms and ran a hand through his bangs. “Gramps says that cooking’s kind of a science.” He mumbled, picking flour and sugar from under his nails. “Because different foods do different things when you mix them together or introduce them to different elements or whatever.”

Ash uttered a soft ‘hm’, and silence fell again. Pikachu gave a small yawn. He found his attention being drawn to where Gary was still fussing with his nails. “Hey…” When the older boy looked down at him, Ash pointed to one of his hands, “D’you like...get those done?”

“What--? My nails, y’mean?” Holding one up, palm facing himself, Gary wiggled his fingers until Ash nodded. “I keep’em filed and stuff. When they get uneven they start snagging and it’s annoying.”

“Did your cheerleaders teach you how to keep’em filed?”

“Uh-huh.” After a moment’s hesitation, Gary added: “...I let them paint them sometimes. But you can’t tell anybody.”

“You paint them…? What, like girls do?”

At once, Gary soured and tucked his hands under his arms. “...’S not just for girls.” He tried to argue, but the words were soft and he was clearly not keen on continuing the conversation further. 

“Pi!”

Ash peered into the mixer. The dough was...well, something. A big, wet looking ball that kept sticking to the sides. With a grin, he whacked at Gary’s arm with the back of his hand excitedly. “Look…! It’s a ball!”

Despite being moody, Gary couldn’t hide his own excitement when he peered into the mixer. “Huh. It worked. It still looks sticky, though. Is it supposed to…? I mean-- uh…” Quickly, he picked up the magazine clipping and re-read the directions. “Looks like it’s good to go, then. We’re supposed to press it into the tart pan.”

Of course, when he saw the frying pan, Gary stared at Ash as if he were perhaps the dumbest person he’d ever seen. Ash had the good grace to flush, rubbing the back of his neck. “So...not a good pan...huh?”

“That’s a frying pan. Even I know that.”

“Well...what’s a tart pan?”

“A pie pan, stupid.” With that, his rival stalked across the kitchen and rummaged through the pile on the counter. He emerged with a glass pie plate and plunked it down near the mixer. “Sheesh…”

“I told you I didn’t know what I was doing.” Ash pointed out unhappily. The mixer cut off; carefully, Gary began pulling the sticky dough out of the bowl. Pikachu helpfully carried the empty bowl to the sink and dropped it in. “I don’t think I can cook anything at all…”

There was silence - Gary worked the dough through the pie plate quietly, pouting whenever the mixture stuck to his fingers. At last, though: “At least you can admit it and ask for help. If you were talking about how you were the best at it…”

“No way. I think mom’s honestly given up on getting me to cook for myself.” A dose of melancholy seeped into his tone, and Ash slumped a little. “Sometimes, I’m pretty sure she wishes she and dad had a girl.”

Gary thought for a moment, pinching absently at a bit of the tart dough. “Guys can cook.” He finally decided. “Plenty of famous chefs are guys. And...I think anybody can learn the basics. If it’s not something you like, you’re never gonna be amazing at it. It’s like training, right? If you like to train Pokemon, then you’ll get better at it. If you don’t...well.”

That made a lot of sense when Ash thought about it. Growing up, he’d never shown much of an interest in helping his mother cook. He knew she could, and that her food was delicious, but that was as far as he’d ever taken the idea. His interests had been fishing, or exploring, and he was good at that (or at least getting dirty, according to poor Delia). And he’d definitely learned a lot on his travels.

“Brock cooks pretty well.” He said, absently, watching as Gary took a fork and gingerly poked holes along the dough in the pan. 

“Yeah? I guess someone better in your little posse.” Gary replied. He re-examined his work before handing the pie plate off to Ash. “Here. Time for the oven. Set it to 350, then I guess we just stick it in there for like...ten minutes.”

Ash took the glass dish silently, nodding as he made his way over to the stove. The only dial he saw with numbers that high was right in the middle on the front, and he turned it carefully to the point between 300 and 400. A tiny red light clicked on next to the knob. The glass container slid onto the top rack easily, and Ash closed it up with a satisfied grin. “Well, see,” He turned back to Gary, who was attempting to use a damp cloth to pat the flour off of his shirt, “Brock’s got a ton of little sisters and brothers, and he had to learn to cook because their parents weren’t around.”

His rival blinked, glancing up. “...Wait...so he was taking care of his siblings? How old is he…?”

Ash’s grin shrunk a little. “...Um...Maybe a couple years older than we are.”

The look on Gary’s face shifted from mildly disturbed to full-blown concern. He resumed patting at his shirt after a tense moment of quiet. “Well...I’m glad ONE of you can cook, at least.” The grumbled words were meant to change the subject, and Ash respected the need to. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of Brock or anything, but talking about his friend’s frankly sad background just felt wrong. Gary didn’t seem very keen on discussing it, either, which made Ash feel like he’d tread on some boundaries. With a groan of defeat, the auburn-haired boy slung the wet rag into the sink with a damp sounding ‘plap!’. “We should start on the custard stuff while the tart’s baking. Chop chop, Ashy-Boy, I don’t have all day to play house with you.”

“Hey, I’m not the ‘mom’, at least.” Ash couldn’t help but tease, lightly tugging on one of Gary’s apron strings. He was rewarded with a swat to the nose, but it hardly hurt and he spent the next few seconds grinning wickedly while rubbing at the offended spot. “What? I sorta like it.”

“Shut up.” The next smack was with the rag Gary had fished up out of the sink, seemingly just to strike Ash with. He might’ve been smirking, but Ash only caught a glimpse before the other boy turned away to look over the recipe. “We only need three things again: cream cheese, granulated sugar, and vanilla extract.”

“Got it--Pikachu? Buddy, I think the extracts are up in that little rack, can you get the one that says ‘vanilla’?”

Pikachu made a happy noise of affirmation before scaling the cabinetry. High up over their heads, his mother kept a lot of little brown bottles with small pictures on them. From where Gary was carefully measuring out more sugar, he asked: “How’d you know that was where it was?”

Ash stood underneath the rack, catching Pikachu when the mouse Pokemon sprang away from the wall. “Uf...I tried to drink them, once.” He admitted, taking the tiny bottle his Pokemon had recovered with a murmured ‘thank you’. “They taste disgusting, but mom says they make food taste better and I believe her.”

At the word ‘disgusting’, Gary passed an apprehensive look to the innocent little bottle. “...You sure about that?” He asked, finally. Ash nodded and passed it over for him to examine. His rival squinted again, bringing the bottle closer to his face.

“...Hey. Are-- do you...have trouble reading stuff?” When Gary raised his hackles, Ash waved his hands. “I don’t-- I’m not asking if you can READ! Just...you look like you have to look really hard, that’s all.”

“My eyes are fine.” Gary bit out, defensively.

“You sure? You kinda look like you’re gonna give yourself a headache…”

“I said I’m fine! Take the stupid bottle and measure out what we need, sheesh!”

There was a wary ‘Pika’ from somewhere on Ash’s shoulder. Pouting, he did as he was told and carefully filled up the teaspoon before pouring it out into the bowl with the sugar. It at least smelled like vanilla, but the memory of tasting it by itself kept itself firmly at the forefront of his mind and he didn’t dare reach in to taste it. The boy drummed his fingers idly against the counter; his eyes slid to the side, to where Gary was carefully peeling the wrapper off the block of cream cheese. “...I...I wouldn’t make fun of you, y’know. If you can’t see too well.”

“Drop it.” Gary snapped at him, sliding a knife through the white block before approaching to dump half of it into the bowl. Ash moved back, allowing him ample room to work, but Gary simply picked up the bowl and brought it to the mixer. “I can see the battle arena just fine, and that’s what matters.” The taller boy muttered, fiddling with the settings on the mixer once again. It turned on with a gentle whir.

Frowning, Ash rocked back on his heels. “...So you just can’t see...up close?”

There was a huff near the mixer. “You don’t listen.” Gary accused, but did finally cave. “No. It looks really blurry when it’s a foot from my face. But again, it doesn’t matter: I can see the field and that means I can battle, so who cares?”

“You do. Looks like it bothers you just a little.” Countered Ash. His rival grumbled to himself, crossing his arms - Ash leaned on the counter next to him. “Why don’t you ask your grandpa to take you to get your eyes checked on? It’s not like you’ll have to wear glasses or anything...they make little lenses you can put right in your eyes, like this!” He pulled down his eyelid, getting his finger as close to his eyeball as possible. “See?-- OW!” 

While Ash rubbed at his eye - freshly poked and irritatble - he heard Gary chuckle to himself. “I know. It’s not a big deal, though.”

“Okay...but I still think you should. Might help you leave me more notes, y’know.”

The smirk they both shared was cheeky and yet warm all at the same time. Gary uttered a snort, reaching forward to flick off the mixer. “I’ll keep that in mind.” And, as he turned away to scrape the creamy mixture out into a smaller bowl: “Thanks.”

The small word of gratitude brought a genuine smile to Ash’s face. He tossed Pikachu a tiny wink and let that be a sign of his triumph by itself. “So the cream stuff is done, right? What do we do next…?”

Gary grabbed for the paper, opened his mouth...and then closed it. He spent a few moments staring at the recipe, eyes darting toward Ash briefly, and then finally let out a tiny sigh. “You read it.” The older boy commanded, thrusting the sheet Ash’s way with his nose stuck up in the air. “You probably need practice, anyway.”

In response, Ash stuck out his tongue. The words didn’t stick to him, and he could tell Gary didn’t really mean them. The trainer cleared his throat. “Oh…! We gotta cut up the fruit for the top! I can do that, I cut stuff up for Brock all the time.”

“You sure letting you have a knife is the best idea?” Drawled Gary, eyeing Ash warily as the dark-haired boy carefully selected one of his mother’s best knives from a special block near the stove.

Ash was prepared to ignore his sarcastic remark, but Pikachu lightly tugged on his hair with a worried mewl. He frowned, glancing back and forth between them. “...I’ll be careful! I don’t cut my fingers when I’m helping Brock.” A pause. “Well...once. But just once.”

It didn’t completely wipe away the pair’s worries, but they reluctantly let him pull out a small cutting board. “What sort of fruit are we using?” Gary asked, tossing a yellow-skinned apple up and down. 

Ash hummed thoughtfully. “...Mom likes a lot of berries, and on the picture it doesn’t look like they cut those. She likes...oh! She loves bananas. I think we have a couple.”

On cue, Pikachu waddled across the counter with a container of blackberries and Gary approached with the wanted bananas. It was easy to fall into a rhythm while slicing, and Ash worked his way through the bananas as Pikachu brought more berries and Gary went to check on the tart crust. He wasn’t even aware how lost he’d gotten until a hand reached past his cutting board for the sliced bits of banana. “Huh. Nice job.” Gary murmured close to his shoulder. “Didn’t think you were gonna do much but butcher them...but these are all pretty even.”

Puffing up with pride, Ash jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Brock always says I do it best! And look: I didn’t even hurt myself!”

“Y’didn’t.” Gary admitted, glancing over Ash’s hands in surprise. “Well, you might not be cut out to be a baker, but you could probably decorate stuff all right.”

Decorate. Right. Moving to the sink to wash off his knife, Ash glanced across the counter to the stove. “Is the tart done?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a little soft, but it smells good.” Gary had set the glass plate close to the bowl holding the cream. “I think the recipe said we have to wait until it’s cool to put the filling inside it.”

“Can we put it in the fridge…?”

With a shrug, his rival did just that. “You’re just full of surprises t’day. I’m almost impressed.”

And Ash surprised himself by returning with: “So’re you. It’s nice, actually.”

It took Gary a moment to process that. When he did, he scoffed and leaned against the fridge. “Don’t look too much into it. You’d be lost without me here.” 

Just like that...well, it was nice while it lasted, Ash supposed. He rolled his eyes, scrubbing at the cutting board in the sink before moving onto the various mixing bowls they’d used. The one thing he could do in the kitchen that his mother had let him help with was washing up.  _ ‘Clean as you go, honey.’ _ She’d said, once. He winced, remembering the streaks of melted butter and the scattering of sugar and flour nearby. “Hey, can you grab the broom? And the mop?”

“I’m NOT cleaning.”

“So don’t, Gary, I just want the mop and the broom. Can ya get it or is that too much for you?” 

There was no reply, but by the sound of footsteps stomping off Ash could hazard a guess that Gary’d gone to do as he’d been asked. Thank Mew. Pikachu had gotten the gist already and was dutifully scooting a damp rag along the counters. Much of the dry debris was pushed into the floor, and Ash did his best once Gary returned with the broom to sweep as much of it up into a pile as he could. The sink came on shortly after, followed by gentle clinking as Gary began silently cleaning up the dishes.

It was Ash who started to hum, swaying softly in place. At first it was of an absent nature - he was just doing it for background noise with no clear melody - but when Gary joined in he recognized the familiar tune. Neither of them commented and continued on cleaning, Gary with the dishes and Ash along the floor. The older boy dutifully scooted out of the way to start drying while Ash got the head of the mop wet, and they carried on quietly.

“D’you remember what that’s from?” Gary asked, finally, drying his hands. Ash glanced up, scrubbing a particularly sugary spot off the floor, and shook his head. “From Pokemon Adventures.”

A light came on in his head. Ash grinned. “Oh yeah! I haven’t seen that show in a while.”

“Well, they ended it, so of course you wouldn’t.” With a grunt, Gary hopped up onto the counter and sat watching as Ash finished up the floor. Pikachu grumbled, prodding at his side with its paws on its hips. “But I still remember the theme song.”

“I remember the music, but not the words.” Admitted Ash, finally nodding toward the floor. It wasn’t perfect, but it was no longer sticky or slippery in places. He set both the broom and the mop against the wall before checking the fridge. “How did it end?” The boy asked, lightly touching at the pie plate. It was cool to the touch, so he took it out and brought it back to the counter.

Gary hummed, looking thoughtful. “...Lame. Red and Blue ended up traveling together. Red won the league, but it was a dumb win. Blue should’ve won.”

He WOULD think that. Ash kept his comments on the winner to himself, but as he began gingerly ladling the cream into the tart shell he found himself dwelling on the other part of the ending. “I don’t think it’s dumb, that Red and Blue ended up traveling together. They were kinda friends, last I remember.” The tart cream leveled out evenly as he spread a spatula over it - Pikachu began bringing over the fruits.

“But they hated each other.”

“No they didn’t.” Ash frowned, glancing up at Gary briefly before spreading the black berries out along the cream. “They were rivals, but they didn’t hate each other. Blue thought he was better than Red because he got a head start, since his grandpa was a professor, and Red just got really annoyed with him a lot. They helped each other out when they needed to and they started becoming better friends.” Next were sliced bits of strawberries and ripe raspberries. “Just because you’re rivals with someone doesn’t mean you hate them.”

“I hate you.” Gary told him, at once.

Ash didn’t comment. He knew he looked mad, and he was...but it also hurt a little. He focused on the bananas next. 

“You’re mad because you hate me, too, you don’t have to lie.” His rival sneered. “You can’t be nice all the time.”

Ash huffed, laying the smallest slice of banana over the small disk of black berries in the middle. “I don’t hate you, Gary. Really. You just get on my nerves because you go out of your way to be mean.”

“I’m not being ‘mean’, I’m just giving it to you straight.”

“No you’re not!” Snapped the smaller trainer at last, glaring up at Gary’s triumphant expression. “You’re MEAN. I get that I’m not the best trainer there is out there, but I’m gonna get better. You telling me I’m the worst doesn’t help, it just makes me feel bad. How would you like it if someone told you all the time that you weren’t ever gonna be a Pokemon Master, no matter how much you were trying or how good you were doing?”

“They wouldn’t--”

“Someone could, and you’d be mad because YOU know you’re doing everything you can but that person just doesn’t wanna see it. It’s  _ mean _ . THAT’S why I don’t like you.” He paused, watching as Gary’s face became unreadable. “But I don’t hate you. I don’t hate a lot of people that I don’t like. I hate Team Rocket because they steal Pokemon. I hate…” A pause. “...I hate my dad because he left my mom and hurt her feelings. But I don’t hate you because you say mean stuff to me. You used to be my friend...and maybe I just can’t hate you.” He frowned at his feet, then gestured to the completed tart next to him. “I wouldn’t’ve even called you for help if I hated you.”

For a few moments, Ash stared down forlornly at the tart and its fruit design and felt low. Things had been going so well, and then...well. He shouldn’t have expected much else. 

“...I don’t...really hate you, either.” 

Blinking, the trainer reluctantly returned his gaze to his rival. Gary sat with his arms crossed, leering at the floor. “You’re a loser,” He began, “but you’re not the worst person in the world. You’re not a BAD person. I just think…” He trailed off, looking flustered at being unable to explain his feelings. “...Whatever. I just don’t hate you. So don’t cry or anything, you baby.”

It wasn’t an apology - Ash figured it’d be eons before he ever got an ‘I’m sorry’ from Gary Oak - but it was all right all the same. With a small sigh, he stepped away from the counter and waved to get the other boy’s attention. Gary took one look at it and snorted, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Well...I mean, it’s predictable, but still...you did a good job. It looks nice.”

And that, there, was far better than Gary’s confirmation that he didn’t hate Ash’s guts. Beaming, the trainer hurried the tart to the fridge and stuck it inside. The sound of boots tromping across the floor made him glance over his shoulder, and he called out in confusion as he saw Gary toss the apron over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and wander out. “Wait…! You’re not gonna stay to give it to her?”

The auburn-haired boy gave him a look of pure confusion. “Uh...no? She’s not MY mom.” He replied.

But Ash was determined. He kicked the fridge closed, reaching for Gary’s sleeve and lightly tugging him back. “Come on, you helped me a lot. I’m gonna tell her anyway that you pitched in...it’d mean a lot to her if you were here to give it to her with me.” When Gary remained nonplussed, Ash gave his arm another small pull. “Please?”

At last, though, something in Gary’s expression gave way to guilt. “...It’d be weird.” He explained, quietly, “Especially since...I didn’t really do anything for Gramps.”

“...Well, why don’t we give it to both of them?” Ash offered. He watched as the gears began to turn in Gary’s head, hope flickering in his eyes. “Yeah! We both made it together, so we can just take it to your house - my mom’s there already. It’s perfect!”

Gary pretended to think it over, tapping a finger to his mouth while gazing heavenward. “...Fine.” He sighed, dramatically. “But I want most of the credit for baking, since you did ALL the decorating.”

“Deal.”

\---

They managed to sneak into the Oak’s family home undetected. Gary said this was because his grandfather and Ash’s mother were having tea in the lab, and Ash was grateful. They were able to set the finished tart on the table and lay out plates before either adult came by.

“Oh…!” The dark-haired boy snapped to attention, frozen in placing napkins on the table. His mother glanced between him and Gary from her place in the entryway, her hand to her mouth. “Hi sweetie! What’s all this?”

Straightening, Ash exchanged a look with Gary before grinning wide. “The professor’s gotta be here, too.”

“Yeah-- GRAMPS!” Squawked Gary.

The response came at once - in seconds, the old man appeared at Delia’s shoulder, looking concerned. “Good gracious, Gary, there’s no need to yell...what’ve you boys got there?”

Ash felt Gary step into place beside him, and it was satisfying to hear the other boy speak in time with him: “Happy Parents Day!”

The realization was slow as it spread across both the faces of Delia Ketchum and Samuel Oak, but gradually their concern and bewilderment turned to pleasant surprise. “Well now…!” The old man began, his smile wide as he clasped his hands behind his back. “This is certainly a wonderful surprise, isn’t it Delia?”

“Oh honey!” The brunette laced her fingers together and pressed one of her hands to her cheek. “How sweet! Is that a…?”

The boys glanced nervously at one another, sliding away so that the adults could look over their handiwork. The professor put his hand to his chin, his bushy eyebrows high up on his forehead; Delia tittered softly, lightly touching the crust. Beside him, Gary leaned over slightly. “...We didn’t screw it up, did we…?” He whispered.

Before Ash could respond, his mother was wrapping both of them in a hug. “Oh boys!” She wailed, sounding beside herself with joy, “It’s lovely! You baked just for us? Together? Oh…!”

“I’m truly impressed!” The professor chimed in, ruffling Gary’s hair and making the boy in question stammer and grumble. “This isn’t something you’ve tried before, that I know of. It smells wonderful!”

Squeezing his mother in return, Ash wriggled his face free to smile back at the old man. “Gary did a lot of the baking, I just sorta measured stuff...but I decorated the top!”

Both of the adults laughed. “Of course you did.” Delia told him, turning back to the tart. The fruit was shaped into a Pokeball, with red berries for the top and bananas for the bottom. It was very ‘Ash’, and he knew it. “I feel bad cutting it up...but I do want to try it!”

“Yes, yes, let me find a good knife…!” The professor agreed, stepping away to rummage through a drawer. Delia steered both of them into chairs adjacent to one another. Both trainers held their breath as the professor cut into their tart, eyes glued to the slice he picked up and deposited on Delia’s plate. They received their own shortly after, and the professor last, but both of them hesitated with their gazes on their respective relative.

His mother, Ash found with some worry, looked perplexed. “...Is it okay…?” Questioned Gary, and he swiveled to see that the professor’s shoulders were shaking a little.

“It’s lovely!” The old man assured them with a laugh. Delia soon joined him.

Spotting her son’s hurt face, she shook her head. “Honey, it’s great. You used the crystal sugar for the crust, didn’t you? It’s...a little crunchy. But it’s all very good, I promise!”

“You’re sure?”

“Very.” She told him, cutting herself another bite. “Try it!”

Ash didn’t need telling twice. He dug his fork in with gusto and helped himself to a big first bite. She was right - the tart shell was a bit crunchy in a way he was sure it shouldn’t be, but overall the whole tart was sweet and fruity and delicious. Swallowing, he nudged Gary with his elbow and held up his hand. His rival slapped his own palm to it without a second thought. “Maybe we oughta bake something else.”

“Maybe.” Gary acknowledged, a half-smile creeping onto his face. “It WAS sorta fun.”

Ash definitely missed it, the moment when his mother and Gary’s grandfather met eyes with each other and shared a relieved and hopeful smile. He lifted his mug of tea, waited for Gary to lift his own, and clinked them together. So they weren’t friends, but there was still something there...how else could they have worked together so well? It gave him hope for the future...that maybe, someday, they COULD be friends again.

-Bon Appetite-

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna try out a simple tart recipe, I used this one here: https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/fresh-fruit-tart-recipe-1916797
> 
> They skipped the glaze - knowing them, they probably thought it was useless, ha ha. 
> 
> Hey, look, another NON-shippy fic. I was debating it, really, but in the end it felt nicer to keep it as a sorta-kinda-friendship story.


End file.
